Do you like to read and win free books? Do you enjoy hearing from your favorite authors? Then join our closed Facebook group, The Girlfriend Book Club, today. You'll love it!
My brother, sister and I opened an envelope of photos the day after my stepmom, their mother, passed away in her home after an 18-year journey through breast cancer. We were overwhelmed and numb and faced the large task of cleaning out her house.
We didn’t know what some of her pictures were or why they mattered until we pulled out a note: “This is my sister. This picture is important to me because…”
Suddenly, all of us crowded around the photos, reminiscing about the past. We thought her helpful note was a one-time thing until we opened a box of letters. “These are journals and letters I saved around the time of my divorce so I could remember the feelings I had then.” We thumbed through heartbreaking recollections, grateful for the context. Her commentary continued on and on through every photo box, closet and well-labeled box of lightbulbs.
After a few days, it became clear — the last gift she left us was a personalized walk through her path, an intentional tour of her belongings. We got to experience her life again by sorting through her things.
Here’s what I learned and how I will document my own life for loved ones going forward.
It Doesn’t Have to be Perfect
Of course, not everyone has 18 years to wonder if they’ll make it another year. People facing terminal illnesses don’t always have the energy to make these notes. But those who are aging and unsure of when they will have their last days might have a few minutes to jot down notes to their families about what they’d like them to know when they pass. The important thing to remember is that it doesn’t have to be perfect. Some of the notes we found were half finished, as was her life when she quickly declined. That’s okay.
It Doesn’t Have to be Pretty
As a parent, I feel pressure to finish baby books, make albums and store them neatly in the right place where people can enjoy them. Turns out, none of that really matters. My brother’s baby book was in a cardboard box. Inside was a list of his first 20 words, complete with their precious pronunciation, that my stepmother saved for him. It was just on a scrap of paper. It meant more than almost anything we found and we read it multiple times, laughing and trying to recreate the mispronunciations. I went home and made file cabinet drawers for each of my five kids, giving up on the baby books and throwing in sentimental stuff instead.
It Doesn’t Have to be a Whole Bunch of Things
Less is more when you are sorting a relative’s belongings while simultaneously sorting through your own fresh grief. My stepmother’s house was one of the most highly organized, minimalist homes I’d been in, and it still took close to a month to fully sift through. I learned not to feel pressure to save everything — just one of each type of thing. For example, saving a few meaningful Christmas tree ornaments is way more meaningful than boxes and boxes of Christmas decor living in the basement.
It Doesn’t Have to Mean Anything to Your Relatives, Just You
My stepmother left behind artifacts of daily living that meant something to her. She saved sippy cups from her kids’ childhood that she must have known would end up in the donate pile. That didn’t matter. The fact that they were still in her cabinet, that she saw them every day and remembered our babyhoods, meant that she treasured her children. They were there for her, and we learned what she valued more and more by finding these items — even if we didn’t keep them.
It Doesn’t Have to be “Stuff” At All
I realized there is so much more to end-of-life planning than wills and funeral plans. Instead, it’s the intention left behind for loved ones that feels like one last gift we didn’t know we needed. It helped us heal.
Ultimately, it’s just stuff. Grief expert David Kessler, founder of Grief.com and author of Finding Meaning, says when someone is dying, there are really just four things to talk about that matter: “Goodbye, thank you, forgive me, I forgive you and I love you. It's as simple as that. All communication comes down to that.” My stepmom communicated some of that in hidden notes, as can you, but you can also give the gift of saying what you need to aloud — before you don’t have the chance to again.
What do you think of the above? Will you do the same? Let us know in the comments below.
Cecilia Castelli
Follow Article Topics: Relationships
